Fifteen Years
by Thirteen Little Dreams
Summary: AU. What happens if one Tsukamoto won't give up, even if he won't answer her? COMPLETE
1. Prolouge

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing but the ideas. (Actually, not even the idea this time. That honor belongs to Manbo-Dead-Behind-the-House-P (I think...I'm terrible with spelling which is why spell check if my best friend.))_

_Note: I'm not recopying that on any other chapters. Just know that I **do not** own anything, 'kay?

* * *

_

I laid my head upon the window pane, the cool of the glass soothing my head as I listened to the rustling of the leaves in the bitter storm outside. I stayed there, unmoving, unyielding, nonexistent, from the first pitter of rain to the last chirp of the bluebirds the next morn. I sat there in the corner of my apartment, a smile etched on my features. It wasn't as bright as that one you drew years ago. God, who knows if I'll ever be able to smile like that again? With work and stuff killing me I don't think I have time to smile anymore. What would you say in situations like this? What would you do? I wish you'd answer me. Why won't you answer me? As I looked out, I reminisce about it. About why I'm here, waiting. About why I'm here...

...and about why you're not.


	2. The First Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

Eri frowned at the words on the paper in front of me. I didn't take much offense to that (I was never the best writer), but I felt my face go red with embarassment. It's not everyday that I let someone see one of my poems to him.

"So you've been writing stuff like this for him?"

I nodded eagerly.

"Everyday?

Again, I nodded.

She merely sighed and sat across from me, handing the paper back. I carefully folded the paper into a clean envelope and wrote his address to him, licking the stamp before I placed it with care in the corner. I held it up proudly to her critical eyes.

Her only response was, "It isn't any good, Tenma."

I frowned myself, but I asked politely if she wanted to go with me to the post office. She did.

The walk there was silent and tense. It was uncomfortable. It made me want to scream or cry. But I just kep walking.

On the way home right after we mailed it, she said quietly, "He's never going to write you back, you know."

I just walked on, without saying a word.

* * *

It's actually hard to do Tenma. DX

I rewrote this chapter like three times before I said, "You know what? Forget it! I'm writing this my way."

And so that's why she's so OC.


	3. The Second Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I was writing my latest poem, trying to word it just right. My Japanese was never the best, so I thought that my extremely poor writing skills were making my poems even harder to read than they should be.

I'd completely forgetten dinner on the stove in my thought. As I glared down at the paper, blaming it for the lack of reply, dinner boiled over into a molten mess before setting itself aflame.

I still hadn't taken notice. Actually, I think if it weren't for Yakumo I'd have died that night. She pulled me out of the house, leaving the paper I'd been working so hard on behind.

The house was ablaze, the searing flames dancing elegantly as they licked the darkened sky. When it was all over, only piles of ashes remained.

I was crying.

And it wasn't because I'd just lost my house. Oh, my house was only a small price to pay in the name of love!

It wasn't because Yakumo slapped me and told me that I should try and forget him, he's ruining my life.

It wasn't because my dear sister abandoned me in the middle of the street when I refused to see her "truth".

I was crying because it hurt that that day's poem may not reach him.

I was crying because no one seemed to see how important it was that I send these letters to him.

I was crying because two years worth of feelings were worthless.

I was crying because I'd never felt so alone.

* * *

The second year was supposed to be funny, but I really couldn't get my spirits up enough to write a cheerful chapter. .

Oh, well, thirteen more to go!


	4. The Third Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

As I wrote and wrote, I started putting copies of my works on my mixi journal. It wasn't that hard, really, and I liked to be reminded of how much I loved him.

Everyday after school I walked to my new apartment alone. (Yakumo had decided to stay with Sara, so I was the only person I was paying for.)

I would walk in and get working on my latest poem of love to him. Then I'd copy it down and post it on my mixi. I'd send the letter to him and then I'd get started on my homework.

One day Mikoto tapped me and the shoulder and asked me if I'd let her come home with me. I had nothing to lose, so I agreed.

I led her to my (tiny) abode and started on my usual routine. When I got up to posting my latest poem, Mikoto's eyes widened.

After asking my consent, she got onto the spinnie chair and got reading from my first poem to the one I'd just written that day.

"You should publish this!" she said, awestruck. "This is...amazing!"

Following her advice, I printed out my poems and sent them to the editor of a small time publisher.

The next month, my book of love broke the counter, and my favorites hit record sales.

Mikoto was all smiley and stuff until I asked if this was enough to get a reply.

She only looked at me sadly, shaking her head, four little words coming out of her mouth.

"It'll never be enough."

* * *

You know, the **** that I'm basing this off of was cheerful, but when I write it...

And Tenma is so OOC! I'm so sorry!


	5. The Fourth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

! burst in shouting, surprising all but Akira who sat calmly, sipping her tea.

My face broke in two as I shook my old friend's hand, thanking her over and over for letting me get published in her magazine.

"It's alright," the reporter responded. "Your poems are too good of an opportunity to miss anyway."

As a now professional writer, I smiled softly. (It wasn't the bright vibrant smile I used to have, but it was a smile none the less.)

And the two of us talked, our chatter filling up the room with mirth.

We talked about my latest work, a compilation of my favorite poems along with some new unread ones.

We talked about how _stupid_ the two salarymen that lived next to my apartment were, and then how stupid they were in general.

Then Akira asked if I was still sending the poems to _his_ house.

I said yes.

Was I still waiting for a reply?

Yes. Why wouldn't she be?

And the room was silent.

* * *

Sorry! Sorry!

Sorry for

A) Bad Quality (School)

B) Slow updates (Once more, School)


	6. The Fifth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I walked into the metting with my head held high.

And it was as usual: my publisher would compliment me, take my poems to be published, and then we'd leave.

As I walked down the street I overheard a couple of girls talking about my new poems.

"So Miki? What do you think of the latest release?"

"They're awesome! They completely capture my feelings!"

"Speaking of which...Any progress with Hanai?"

"Not yet, but watch as I snatch him away from that karate lady..."

As they continued gossiping I moved away in disgust.

Captured your feelings...?

I'd never in a million years want to do that!

You only want to take that guy because he's a challenge!

I...I really loved him.

I really, really loved him.

I turned away, walking as far away as I could from the inexperienced pansies who never knew wha love was truly like.

* * *

So to make up for it, two updates! (Ta-dah!) (...Not that anyone really reads this TT-TT)


	7. The Sixth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

The nurse frowned as she walked into my room.

"Tsukamoto! No work, remember?"

I cringed. I did not want to deal with her, or my condition, until this poem was completed.

Not that I could truly ignore my condition.

It _is_ a bit difficult to write when your writing hand (and arm) had been broken.

I wasn't careless.

I was just thinking to hard of how to express myself to him.

That's why my arm, leg, pelvis, and ankle were broken.

...Not that it mattered. I could be considered a regullar customer here at this point.

Was there something I hadn't broken/injured/bruised/scraped in this past year?

Eventually the editoral apartment got used to my constant injuries.

I sent my editor the newest poems via email...

...and then asked the nurse to send the hard copy to his address.

Because even though these poems were still being published as they were, they were, after all, meant for him, and him alone.


	8. The Seventh Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I had been released a little over a month ago, and I felt perfectly fine.

My body was healed.

My mind had cleared.

My soul was free.

My heart was...

Never mind my heart.

But maybe that's why I couldn't get a reply.

Because I always go on about myself.

About how _I_ feel.

About what _I _thought.

So I decided to change my approach, and began talking about him.

About how he was like extreme ironing, something that couldn't be rushed but you couldn't take your time with lest it burns through your clothes.

About how he was like a two-dimension plane, something that you could see but couldn't touch, couldn't feel.

The poems I took to be published skyrocketed the sales of my books.

But still, admist the roar of my fans, the one voice I wanted to hear gave me only silence.


	9. The Eighth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I was still the same a year later.

I was still determined to get your reply.

As far as I could tell, all of my friends had given up on me. They'd all abandoned me.

You were... really all I had left.

And I was determined to get my feelings across to you if it was the last thing I'd ever do.

So I wrote like crazy, breaking the barriers of literature.

I talked about me, about you, about us.

About how my poetry was like the Pokemon series, something that people still try even if there's no end in sight.

About how you were like winning 16 sumo matches, something that was difficult but made you feel wonderful in the end.

About how I was like that bird desk toy, always thirsty and never fulfilled.

And about how we were like YuGiOh! cards, about how fate was the only one who could have the cards played exactly the way she wanted it.


	10. The Ninth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

When I woke up, I was in a white bed in a white room. It felt...familiar, somehow.

But I'd never been here before. I was absolutely _sure_ I had never been here before.

Crying. I heard someone crying next to me.

No, not just someone. People. Many people.

I sat up from where I lay. The people gasped and smiled and hugged me.

Someone went and called the nurse.

One of them, a young, toned, refined man with glasses and bowl-cuttish-but-not-really hair, sat by the side of my bed, placed a firm hand on my shoulder, smiled at me, and said that it was a miracle! I woke up!

The other people clammered on about how glad they were that I came back, that I hadn't died from my head wound.

...Head wound? I was suddenly aware of itchy bandages encircling my head. I wanted to reach up and scratch them, but my arm felt itchy as well. I looked down to see it attached to a tube and sack.

...What was that called again?

The man noticed my confusion and knelt down so that he was at eye level with me.

"...Tsukamoto? Is something the matter?"

I felt around for my voice a little. It took a while but I finally managed to choke out a few words, words that caused the entire room to be still.

"Who...are you?"

* * *

Many thanks to flowacat and Cloud Monteclaro who actually remind me that occasionally someone catches the small fish in the sea. =)


	11. The Tenth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I heard the doctors go on about something (amnesac? anmisie?), a condition that I had because I got run over by that truck last year.

I apparently knew all of these people, which was a relief (who'd want to be with a bunch of strangers?).

But something felt wrong. Like something was missing.

Like a piece of my heart had been torn forcibly from me.

Eventually I was released but I still saw this shrink who'd ask me what do I remember?

Nohing, I'd tell her. I was learning the facts of my life, but I couldn't remember anything but that one thing.

One thing...? Do go on.

I love him. I don't know who he is, but I love him.

He... He's my Sun, he's my air, he's my daily bread, he's my heart, he's my life, he's my soul, he's the very reason of my existence...

...And I can't remember him.

I can't remember anything about him.

Who is he?

What did he look like?

What was he like?

Why did I fall in love with him?

Did I ever let him know?

Did he return my feelings?

Were we open?

Did we hide it?

Did he propose?

Were we ever even together?

He's the very center of my universe.

So why... why can't I find him anywhere I look?

And the lady would only smile and hold me as I cried until the hour was up and I had to go.


	12. The Eleventh Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

Even though I didn't know who he was, I still wrote to him from the minute I had woken up.

Everyday.

Without fail.

I had gone to my old home around the beginning of this year, and a few things had popped up into my head.

Like the time I had asked Nara to hit on me, only to turn him down because of my loved one.

And that time I had made a humongous curry dish for him, only to have Harima dressed as Santa steal it away.

And that time I made him curry for lunch but only brought lunch.

And that time that I found out that I had totally forgotten to sign my name at the end of my letter to him asking him to stay.

...But...

Who is he?

The main question still stays unanswered.

And another thing bugs me.

Why can't anyone tell me?


	13. The Twelfth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

My latest poem to him describes how betrayed I feel at this moment.

No. Not even. It cannot even compare.

They know.

My friends know.

They know him.

Eri let it slip.

"It's great that you don't remember him anymore," she'd said after I told them that I couldn't.

How would she know unless she'd met him, I asked.

And the room was filled with a suffocating atmosphere that told me all I needed to know.

Why?

Why won't they tell me anything?

Can't they see how much I need him?

Can't they see how much I'm hurting because of the fact that I'm nowhere near him?

I'm suffocating!

He's my air and I won't be able to rest until he's in my life again.

So why?

Why can't they set me free from this torment?


	14. The Thirteenth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I sat in my room, brooding.

I still wrote him poems. But they were more written out of habit than anything.

I felt tired, listless, but the fire in my heart had yet to die.

Ever since my discovery last year, I had no desire to do anything but search for him.

I no longer wanted to reminisce.

Why doesn't he answer me?

According to my mixi, this was the thirteenth year I was writing to him.

Was nothing I did enough for him?

Was I worth nothing?

These past few months, I'd been digging around for even the smallest clue, the slightest trace of him.

I got nothing.

Zip. Zero. Nada.

Nothing.

And finally, I laid down to rest.

A knock at my door.

I yell that whoever it is can let themselves in, it's unlocked.

Harima walks in.

I give the usual plesantries only to be cut off.

"Tenma... I think that you should stop."

My eyes drop as murderous thoughts enter my head, but I play dumb anyway.

"Stop what?"

He pounds the table.

"Stop looking for him! Stop thinking about him! Stop writing to him! Stop... Stop loving him..."

His voice drops as he says the last thing, and he slumps down into his seat.

"Look," I snarl. "It's none of your business what I do, now is it? I'll do whatever the hell I want, and I'll find him! You'll see!"

"...Why?"

I look at him for the first time, and he's staring at me with pained eyes, his sunglasses off. I saw his face for the first time, and it was with a heartbreaking expession on.

"Why can't you give up on him? D-Do you know how hard I tried...? To make you happy? To make you safe? To help you? ...To give up on you when I realized that he was always going to be your number one?"

A tear slipped out from his eye. He scooped me up into a tight embrace.

"Tenma..." he whispers into my ear. "Am I really not good enough for you?"

A moment of silence.

I return his embrace as I burst into tears.

"Harima-kun... I-I can't! I can't say yes! I need him! I need to know who he is! These past few years without him... has been like living in a black hole! Please... I-I..."

He sits there with me, holding me, as tears that carried the whole of my sorrow flowed down, down, down...

* * *

To caitlin-san:

Thanks very much! :3

In response to your question... OC does mean Original Character. I meant to type OOC, wich is Out Of Character. .'

Also, thanks for the support! Really.


	15. The Fourteenth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

New Year's Eve.

I was all alone in my apartment, still writing to him, my thoughts swirling.

I'd gotten many memories back, but...

He still remained an enigma to me.

So I sat alone under the kotatsu, trying, racking my brain for even the slightest thought.

...I could see it by then.

His sillohuette.

The back of it, as he walked away from me.

Red and White were blaring on TV, and soon the singers Bob and Ringo would perform.

That was my excuse for not being able to hear his voice.

...Why didn't he call me?

Why wasn't he among the crowd that had taken care of me these past few years?

Was the reason I could only see him walking away from me because that was the moment he walked out of my life?

He had fourteen years to answer me.

So why?

Why?

And I sat there on New Year's all alone with my thoughts.

An hour before the countdown, I got up and walked to the bathroom.

And there, I saw my face.

It was the face of a young, love-stricken, heart-broken girl.

Enough.

He'd hurt me enough.

I was going to move with my life.

"_...Is that so, Tsukamoto-san?"_

I turned around. Who-?

"_I'm so sorry, Tsukamoto-san..."_

No...don't be sorry. Just tell me who you are.

"_Thank you for saving me, Tsukamoto-san."_

Saving you? From what? ...You're saving me. Your voice... seems so warm...

"_Sayonara, Tsukamoto-san."_

No... No! It should be "Ja ne," not "Sayonara!"

Wait!

I ran outside hoping to catch the owner of the mysterious voice.

I ran uphill towards my old home.

I ran downhill past my old school.

I ran downtown where shops laid dead for the evening.

I ran past a bank.

I ran past an alleyway where a fortune-tellign stand had once been.

I ran past a curry shop.

I ran past a park.

My feet seemed to know where to go to find him.

But where was he?

I was all alone in the middle of the streets, my head pounding.

Then, like a flash, a single thoght entered my mind.

...I remembered!

I spent so much time making that curry lunchbox so that I could talk with him, and soon I remembered his voice.

I swear I saw him when I was trapped in that storage building, and I remembered the shape of his head.

I was there with Harima trying to find him a present, and remembered his smile.

I had saved him from some bank robbers, and remembered his eyes.

Harima had posed as some Noah person fortune teller, and I remembered how fine he looked in casual clothes.

That time he'd picked the curry shop over me hurt, and I remembered how he liked to tease me.

I walked back into the park, and tears flowed down my eyes.

I... I remembered...

This was where he agreed to go out with me.

This was where he stole my first kiss.

This was where he stole my heart.

This was our special place.

This was where he said goodbye.

Those and many other things flowed into my head.

So many things...

And then one thing entered that made my blood run cold.

No...

No!

And just before the clock struck twelve, I was off on my feet to meet you, finally, for the first time in fifteen years.


	16. The Fifteenth Year

From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.

And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.

* * *

I watched as water flowed down the hard stone.

So it was true.

For the first time in six years, I wished that I had stayed that way. Not remembering him, I mean.

Funny. I never thought that I could ever think that.

It hadn't even been three hours into the New Year.

...That's right. He broke up with me on the exact chime of New Year's fifteen years ago.

...Why didn't he tell me?

...Why didn't he tell me?

Fifteen years, I say to the piece of cement in front of me. That's how long I've waited for you, only to find out that you've left me behind again.

I take out some extra spicy curry powder and a boquet of lilies and lay them down in front of him as the memories replay.

"_Tsukamoto-san..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"We need to talk."_

_"Sure! About what, honey?"_

_"..."_

_"...?"_

_"...We need to break up."_

_"...Y-You're joking, right?"_

_"..."_

_"W-Well? Aren't you going to tell me that it was a j-joke?"_

_"..."_

_"..."_

_"...! Please... don't cry. I...There's a reason you can't be with me at the moment, and I'd rather that you find your happiness with someone else who could do it better than I could ever hope right now..."_

_"No! You're the only one who makes me this happy! Please! Don't... Don't go..."_

_"Tenma... Look at me..."_

_"..."_

_"Tenma... ...That's better. Can you do me a favor? Can you send me off with one of those smiles that I love?"_

_"...! ... ... ... ... ...Ja ne, Danna!"_

_"...Sayonara, Tsukamoto-san."_

One tear flowed down as other memories flooded in, mixing, melting into one.

"_We're so sorry..."_

_"Yakumo... are you sure...?"_

_"...Gomen, Onee-san... They're asking if you wish to go..."_

_"...No...H-He can't..."_

_"Onee-san?"_

_"He can't do this!"_

_"Onee-san! Wait! Where're you going?"_

_"Imouto-san? What's going on?"_

_"Onee-san, she-...I-I can't keep up..."_

_"__Tsukamoto! Wait! We're you going?"_

_"Here... They wanted you to have this."_

_"No! Stop! H-He's not gone! He's just waiting for me!"_

_"What? You wanna write to him? But he'll never read them."_

_"Of course he will! Watch! My poems will definitely reach you!"_

...How naive I was.

Did I really think anything could reach you here?

All alone in the quiet of the graveyard, tears streamed down my face as the first sunrise of the year softly painted the skies.

I whisper your name unbidden for the first time in a very long time.

"Karasuma..."


	17. Epilouge

My head's getting cold.

That's my only thought as I move my head off of the window pane. My eyes don't move off of the rain pouring outside, but I can't quite see the sky cry because of some mist in my vision.

I sit still, unmoving, just staring blankly out the window.

Suddenly someone knocks at the door.

I don't move until the knocking has become so loud it's impossible to ignore.

Harima's waiting for me. He looks ridiculous in gangster wear holding a pink frilly umbrella, but the only thing I do is smirk. Eri entered the scene next, along with Akira, Mikoto, Hanai, Sara, Yakumo, Nara, and everyone else from Class 2-C and D.

Well. Isn't this nice?

We're holding a high school reunion at my place today.

And guess who else is here?

Karasuma sits quietly in a corner in a DIY shrine, incense burning with a single letter in front of him.

But tonight, I won't think about him.

Tonight, I won't think about how much I miss him.

Tonight, I won't think about how lonliness drove me to try to see him, from trying to burn down my house to jumping in front of a truck.

Tonight, I won't think about how he was my world, and now I've got to start from scratch again.

Tonight, I'll let go.

Not forever, but just for the moment.

Until your face makes me smile again, I think.

Yesterday, I wrote the last thing I'll be writing to him in a while.

After all, fifteen years has been enough.

So tonight, I'll take a chance and smile again.

After all, who knows where this future will take us?

* * *

_Dear Karasuma, _

_Guess where I am? I'm in your dining room right now, looking at the 5479 poems I've sent to your house._

_5479._

_5479 days since you've died._

_Even when I was in the hospital I haven't missed a day._

_Want to know why?_

_Because you were that important to me._

_It's hard to breathe when you're not around._

_Every gesture of yours made my heart spasm._

_Just a glance in my direction made me beet red._

_Your voice sent me to heaven._

_Your touch made me feel alive._

_Our time together was so magical, so unreal, like a cliche romance movie._

_And so when it all came spiralling to the end, I couldn't believe it._

_Which was why for the past fifteen years, I've been trying to reach you, hoping with all my heart that it wasn't so._

_You should have told me._

_You should have told me that you were permanently ill, and that you were going to just leave me one day._

_Why couldn't you have trusted just that to me?_

_But I guess that I'll find out when I die, huh?_

_Don't worry, I won't kill myself._

_Besides that fact that my few attempts have failed, I have decided._

_I've got more than just me to live for._

_So, even if it hurts, I will pick myself up and smile. For my friends. For my sister. For you._

_I'll be living in your house for a bit. Your folks were kind enough to let me stay here, and they gave me what remains of your ashes. _

_Funny. You never told me that you wanted to spread them at the park under the tree where you asked me out._

_The first time I walked in here after I moved in, I was speechless, desolate, and inconsolible._

_I stood in the doorway until Harima-kun came and prodded me in. We walked up into your room and sat there. _

_He waited for a bit and then left me amongst your stuff._

_I did nothing but climb into your bed and cry._

_Since then, I've yet to shed a tear._

_Also, besides the report, I've got an apology to give you._

_I sort of went through your stuff._

_But guess what I found?_

_My scroll, the first letter I'd ever written to you._

_And guess what I found out?_

_I did sign my name._

_I did sign my name, you liar._

_So you knew that whole time, and waited until a year before you were going to die to confess?_

_Well, whatever._

_Still._

_Even though it was a measely 365 days of my life, it was the happiest time of my life._

_So, to that regard, thank you._

_For everything._

_And know this- The smile that you loved so much has risen from the ashes._

_I'm going to move on, now, but I'll never forget you._

_Giving all her love to you now in hopes that love will be born anew in her heart,_

_Tenma_

_

* * *

_Well, that's the end. Thanks for reading.

Also, check out this link. It's from the person I credited this story to on the front page:

h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = j p A E o f k V a M s

Seriously, though. Thanks. This is the first chapter story I've finished, and it's because I knew someone was reading it.

I _was_ going to ask you to read my other chapter stories, but I'm pretty sure you will anyway. Right?


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